Where Darkness Gathers
by AlElizabeth
Summary: AU Sam Winchester is terrified of the dark... and for a good reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: When Darkness Falls**

The first time it happened Sam was two years old.

He and Dean were staying over at Bobby Singer's house while their father was on a hunt. They had been at the grizzled hunter's house for three days and it was starting to look as though they would remain there for the rest of the week, not that the brothers minded; Sam in particular was really starting to warm up to the gruff ex-mechanic.

Bobby had put both boys to bed at a reasonable hour- noticing both children falling asleep on his couch as they watched some cartoon movie- carrying them up to the guest bedroom and laying them down on the old bed, covering them with the blanket without waking either boy.

Little Sammy startled from sleep only to be greeted by darkness. It was late at night and Bobby had yet to put a nightlight in the boys' room, unaware that he would be seeing much more of them in the future.

The toddler sat up and peered around nervously. He knew Dean was close, could hear him breathing, but his lower lip still trembled.

Before Sam could even cry out his brother's name, the child was yanked from the mattress and pulled down into the darkness beneath bed.

Dean Winchester rolled over in his sleep and sighed happily, dreaming of his mother.

He didn't even know his sibling was gone.

_W_

Little Sammy Winchester crawled shakily from underneath the bed hours later, just as the sky outside was turning to slate grey, frightened but unharmed.

Standing up on trembling, chubby legs, Sammy grabbed at the blankets on the bed and pulled himself up onto the mattress. On his hands and knees, the toddler crept to his big brother's side and lay down beside him, shivering.

Dean, still asleep, draped an arm across his sibling's shoulders and drew the younger child closer.

_W_

Sam never told Dean or Bobby what had happened, he just didn't know, at two-years old, how to describe it, but he cried the next night, terrified, when Bobby made to turn out the bedroom light.

Dean said that they could leave the lamp on the bedside table on while Bobby promised to get a nightlight first thing in the morning if that would make Sam feel better and it did… but not for long.

The lamp- and later, the Mickey Mouse nightlight Bobby bought- kept most of the darkness away but there were still shadows… and shadows were just as dangerous.

_SPN_

Sam frowned, as the light in the motel room grew dim, heralding the approaching night.

He closed his math workbook and shoved it into his backpack; his teacher had given the class a pile of homework over the weekend and Sam tried to get as much done as he could before it got dark. Although he knew that nothing was coming after him while he was awake- and while Dean was awake for that matter- his nerves would never let him focus, even if he wanted to.

Glancing over his shoulder, the twelve-year old saw Dean sitting on the end of his bed, engrossed in some old action movie he had seen a thousand and one times.

Sam turned back and bit his lip, his palms already slick with anxious sweat.

They might not come tonight, he thought desperately.

Sam knew he was kidding himself, though; they came almost every night, especially if John was away on a hunt, like he was now.

Dean and John didn't know about them. They had warned Sam not to tell his family and he hadn't, afraid of his brother and father getting hurt. He'd kept his secret for ten years and he would keep it forever if that were what he needed to do to keep his family safe. They never had Sam for very long, he'd always be returned before morning, before the light came, but to the youngest Winchester, every night felt like eons, John and Dean none the wiser.

Automatically Sam reached out and turned on the lamp sitting on the table he had been doing homework at, sighing as warm, yellow light cast a pool on the scratched wood of the table.

"You finished that math yet, Sammy?" Dean called from his position on the end of the bed and the twelve-year old nodded.

"C'mon over here and watch TV with me," the sixteen-year old said and Sam did as his brother asked, sitting right beside him on the edge of the bed, pulling his legs up out of habit.

They only ever came when Dean or John were sleeping. They never acted while the two older Winchesters were awake. Sam, however, soon realized that he didn't have to be asleep for them to come. He always tried to stay awake as long as possible at night, simply so that they wouldn't surprise him like they would if he was asleep.

Shadows and the bits of darkness underneath pieces of furniture made Sam nervous, even during the day. He always felt as though there were eyes on him, watching him- and there probably were- as though they were constantly keeping tabs. Nighttime hunts were even worse. The darkness seemed to press in on Sam from all sides, he could almost feel their hands grabbing for him, caressing him longingly. The flashlight he was always given was his saving grace, even though they never took him while his father and brother were awake, even if they were yards away, obscured by dense forest.

"Hey, Short Stuff? You in there?" Dean asked and Sam peered up at him.

"Huh?" the younger brother asked, he hadn't even heard Dean talking to him.

"You still doing math problems in your head or what?" Dean asked, smirking and Sam shook his head.

"No, I was just… worried about Dad," Sam lied, "You should have gone with him, Dean."

The sixteen-year old shrugged, "Dad said he didn't need my help for this one. Besides, if I went, I wouldn't get to spend time with my favourite brother."

Sam smiled and chuckled as Dean ruffled his hair.

"I'm your only brother," he reminded his sibling and Dean shrugged again, "You're still my favourite."

"Here," the older sibling said and handed the television remote to Sam, "Find us something to watch, Einstein."

The twelve-year old took the remote and channel surfed for a few minutes before finally settling on the 'Ren & Stimpy Show'.

While Dean laughed at the cartoon antic of the crass Chihuahua and housecat, Sam let his mind wander back to the approaching darkness.

_SPN_

Sam startled awake, peering around the motel room blearily.

It was dark- the youngest Winchester was far too old for something as childish as a nightlight- and the teen's heart instantly began pounding in his chest. Dean didn't even stir, even though he and Sam were forced to share the bed, their father's chainsaw snoring sounding from the bed closest to the door, indicating that he too, was fast asleep.

Reaching beneath his pillow, Sam drew out the penlight he kept hidden there. It didn't drive them away but it always gave Sam a sense of security- of safety- even if it was a false one.

Before the teen could even press the button to turn on the light, he was grabbed by the ankle and dragged from bed and engulfed by the darkness.

_SPN_

"He can't be gone!" Dean shouted at his father the next morning, "All his crap's still here. Did he walk out in his pajamas?"

John growled at his son, "Don't you take that tone with me, Dean Winchester! I don't know where Sam is! I was asleep, the same as you!"

Dean backed down, he shouldn't be arguing with his father, and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, trying not to panic.

"He couldn't have gone far," John assured his eldest son, "We'll find him."

Dean looked at his father and nodded even though he felt his heart clench with fear.

_SPN_

If anyone had been watching the parking lot of the seedy motel two months later, they would have seen a peculiar sight.

A single lamppost with a sodium arc bulb cast a sickly yellow glow in a circle that barely illuminated a quarter of the parking lot.

Just beyond the wash of light, in the shadows cast by the cars of the motel's occupants, a lone hand rose up from the grimy asphalt like that of a drowning man's final attempt to break the water's surface. The hand did not vanish, however and slowly a wrist, a forearm, and an elbow followed it until the fingers reached out and touched the edge of the yellow circle of light cast by the lamppost, gripping it as though it were solid. A second hand followed the first hand and also found purchase on the circle of light.

A head followed the arms, the figure's hair shaggy and dark, greasy even in the meager light provided. The figure pulled themself forward slowly, almost as though they were moving through tar and a torso appeared, covered in a dirty, torn t-shirt.

The figure, now clearly a young man, struggled towards the circle of light, whimpering as he pulled his legs away from the darkness, the lower half of his body only partially covered by a pair of boxer shorts as dirty and torn as his t-shirt was.

The young man crawled forwards on his hands and knees into the pool of yellow light and huddled there for a moment, panting and mewling quietly.

_SPN_

Dean turned off the television- not that he was watching it anyway- and sighed wearily, resting his chin in his palm and turned his head to stare out the motel room's window. John was seated at the table, his journal open but untouched.

Dean couldn't believe that his brother could just vanish like that, with no clues and no leads. It was like he'd simply disappeared into thin air.

Two months had passed and no one had seen or heard from Sam. It just didn't make sense.

Dean's gaze drifted over the cracked asphalt of the parking lot outside, wondering when John would get tired of this motel and tell him that they were leaving.

With no idea what had happened to Sam, they had traveled aimlessly, showing anyone who would look pictures of the younger Winchester, becoming more and more desperate to find him.

"Why don't you give it up for the night, Dad?" Dean asked tiredly, "Your journal hasn't revealed anything yet and I don't think it will tonight."

As he spoke, Dean allowed his gaze to focus again and that was when he noticed a figure crouched outside in the parking lot, beneath the lamppost.

Thinking that it was a homeless person, Dean stood to close the windows when he stopped, frozen still for a moment before rushing into action.

The homeless man- what he'd thought was a homeless man- had looked up, wiping his nose and Dean had recognized his little brother's face.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and ran to the door, flinging it wide, John right on his heels, yelling questions in rapid-fire succession at his eldest as he did so.

"SAMMY!" Dean called again and the figure looked up at him, standing slowly.

Dean nearly ran over his younger sibling in his haste to get to him, pulling Sam into a hug and almost crushing his brother against his chest.

Not that Sam seemed to care. He wrapped his arms around Dean and clung to him, crying.

"Dean… Dean…" he cried, shaking.

"Sammy."

Dean heard his father call Sam the nickname he hadn't used since his brother had been little and then he too had all the air squeezed from his lungs as John embraced both his sons.

A million questions bubbled against Dean's lips, wanting to be asked but he refrained from asking his younger sibling anything. Instead, he lifted his head and looked at his father.

"We should get Sammy inside," he said and John nodded.

The eldest Winchester stepped back and Dean attempted to disengage from his brother as well but Sam clung to him, hands fisted in his shirt, face pressed against his chest.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean murmured, raising a hand to lay his palm against the back of his brother's head, fingers twining in Sam's unwashed hair, "Let's go inside and get you cleaned up."

The younger brother opened his eyes and stared up at Dean without lifting his head; the older sibling smiled encouragingly.

Realizing that Sam wasn't about to let go of him anytime soon, Dean wrapped an arm around his sibling's shoulders, holding him close but making it easier for him to move as well.

Sam followed Dean, walking slowly while John brought up the rear.

"No!" Sam cried as they came to the edge of the light cast by the lamppost, "No! Not the dark!"

"Sammy!" Dean said sternly, "It's okay!"

The younger teen shook his head, twisting his hands in his brother's shirt, whimpering.

"We have to get to the motel room," Dean told his brother, trying to keep quiet so the neighbours wouldn't hear but Sam was inconsolable.

"Please… I can't… not the dark…" Sam sobbed, his knees buckling and he landed heavily on the pavement, Dean bending at the waist because his brother refused to let go of him.

"Sam," John spoke up now, his tone stern though tinged with real concern, "What's wrong?"

"They're out there," Sam breathed, "Waiting… in the dark…"

Dean and John looked at one another, confused and concerned for the youngest member of their family.

"Don't let them take me again, Dean!" Sam shouted suddenly in Dean's face, pulling hard on his sibling's shirt so that their noses were almost touching.

Dean swallowed thickly, "Okay… Yeah, okay, Sammy, no one's gonna get you. Dad and I won't let them."

"Oh no…" Sam moaned, his face the colour of spoiled milk, "Oh no… please… I didn't mean to… I'm s-sorry…"

Dean realized that Sam wasn't talking to him anymore, wasn't even looking at him as his gaze swept across the darkened parking lot fearfully.

_SPN_

Sam couldn't go back into the dark. He just couldn't.

Even though it was only a few feet to the motel room, where overhead lights in the overhang illuminated the sidewalk in front of the rooms, to Sam, it seemed as though it was miles away.

And now he'd told his secret, something he'd been warned never ever to do.

Sam could feel their eyes on him and he knew they were angry.

"Dean…" Sam whimpered, terrified.

"Sammy," his brother murmured, "We have to go inside. We can't stand out here all night."

"Sam," John said, his gruff voice soft, "We're right here with you, son. It'll be alright."

The teen tore his gaze away from his brother's face to peer at his father.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said and reached out to grab his brother's arms, pulling him into a standing position.

John stepped closer to both his sons, laying a hand protectively on his youngest's shoulder.

Hesitantly the small family inched towards the motel room, Sam setting the pace. He dragged his bare feet against the cool pavement, frightened, but then remembered that he would be safe with his father and brother.

_SPN_

John automatically locked the motel room door after his sons as they stepped inside. It was still a few hours until morning and the parking lot was shadowy and foreboding.

Turning around, he saw that Dean had pulled out the chair from the table and had Sam sitting down on it, his youngest son slumping forwards, clearly exhausted.

John stepped forward as Dean crouched beside his brother, peering concernedly at Sam's downturned face.

Sam's hair had grown some in the two months he'd been missing and was stringy and greasy from being unwashed. He was wearing the same clothes he'd gone to sleep in, a hand-me-down t-shirt of Dean's and a pair of boxer shorts, both items of clothing ripped and filthy.

"Sam," the father rumbled and the teen looked up at him, "What the hell happened?"

Sam lowered his head again, sniffing, and wiped his forearm across his nose.

"It was them…" he began nervously.

"Them? Who's 'them', Sam?" John asked, feeling a sudden surge of anger; someone had abducted his son and hurt him and the hunter wanted to see that person dead.

Sam shook his head and sucked in a shaky breath, "They… they don't like the light… they only live in the dark… in shadows…"

"What are they, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Monsters?"

Sam nodded and shivered.

"Here," John grabbed his jacket from where it rested on the end of his bed and brought it towards his youngest son.

Sam smiled and reached out for the garment when suddenly the lamp sitting on top of the bedside table crackled and went out, the room plunging into darkness.

"Nooo!" Sam cried out, terrified.

_SPN_

The teen opened his eyes when the lights flickered and turned back on.

It was okay, just a power surge.

Looking up, Sam's eyes widened in horror.

He was all alone.

His father and brother were gone.

"No," Sam groaned, "Please… bring them back… please… I'm sorry I said anything…"

The teen received no response.

Outside, darkness pressed hungrily against the windowpane.

**Author's Note:**

**Chapter title comes from a song by Killswitch Engage. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: The Frayed Ends of Sanity**

Dr. Edgar Neill walked around his office, preparing for his final meeting of the day.

The psychologist's leather shoes squeaked slightly as he made his way across the carpeted floor and turned on the overhead light, frowning as the fluorescent bars flickered for a moment before shining down steady, white light.

Dr. Neill hated those lights; he usually only ever kept his desk lamp on but the patient he was about to see wouldn't like it and Edgar did not want the young man to be uncomfortable.

Returning to his desk, Dr. Neill peered down at the file sitting open atop the polished wood.

Samuel Winchester, age twenty-five, was a longtime resident of the Briarcliffe Psychiatric Hospital, and honestly, one of Dr. Neill's favourites.

Edgar knew he shouldn't feel that way about any of them men or women at the hospital but Sam Winchester was a pleasure, many of the staff felt the same way as well.

The young man was never violent or antagonistic. He took his medications without complaint.

Really, Dr. Neill wished all his patients were as well behaved as Sam Winchester.

The young man had come to the hospital as a teenager, just when Dr. Neill was first starting, and the head psychologist at the time had diagnosed him- accurately, it seemed- as a paranoid schizophrenic suffering from delusions and visual hallucinations.

Sam Winchester had been one of the first patients Dr. Neill treated but despite their long history together the young man was still a mystery to Edgar.

Sam had no family that the doctor knew of, he never received any visitors and never mentioned anything about his parents or siblings he might have.

He didn't know where the young man was from, having come to Briarcliffe at the age of sixteen, in the back of a police cruiser.

The most elusive characteristic about Sam Winchester, however, was his pervasive fear of darkness and even shadows.

Of course it had to be a result of the schizophrenia but the young man seemed to be experiencing was not exactly normal. It was far more common for individuals suffering from this mental illness to experience delusions of persecution, exalted birth or special missions, not outright terror of seemingly non-threatening phenomena.

Dr. Neill looked up when he heard a knock at his office door.

"Yes?" he called, taking a seat behind his desk.

The door opened and Tex peered into the office, "We're ready for you."

Edgar nodded and watched the door open all the way, admitting two orderlies and Sam Winchester. The orderlies, Tex and Alvin, walked on either side of the young man but were calm and relaxed.

Sam moved forward slowly, cautiously. Edgar could see his eyes darting around the office nervously, focusing on the darkness beneath his desk and in the corners of his bookshelf before settling on the friendly glow of the desk lamp.

"Why don't you have a seat, Sam?" Dr. Neill offered and the young man sat in the chair provided for patients, in front of the desk.

"How are you feeling today?" Edgar asked and took a moment to give Sam a visual once-over.

The young man was wearing standard hospital garb- dark blue jogging pants, a light blue housecoat over a white t-shirt and black slippers- but the clothes looked far too big for him. His chestnut hair was shoulder length, obscuring his face partially in a dark curtain but Edgar could make out the high, narrow cheekbones, long nose and a green eye.

The young man sat hunched in the chair, arms wrapped around his middle, knees drawn up to his chest so that his feet rested on the edge of the seat.

"Sam?" Dr. Neill repeated, "How are you feeling today?"

Edgar knew what the answer was going to be. It had been an overcast, rain-drenched day, the kind that Sam hated. Summertime brought out the best in the young man, when the days were long and often full of sunshine. Sam would be the first patient to go out to the hospital's grounds and sit on the lawn, relishing the sunlight.

"…Not enough light…" Sam muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "Need more light… not enough light…"

Edgar nodded and glanced at the two orderlies. Although he was sure he wouldn't need them, he liked to have them present; Sam Winchester may not be violent but he could look damn intimidating because of his height. The young man was taller than most of the people at the hospital

"It's calling for a better day tomorrow," Dr. Neill assured his patient.

Sam looked up at Edgar and the doctor smiled.

"Are you feeling up to talking, Sam?" Dr. Neill asked and Sam's head bobbed up and down a couple of times.

As far as Edgar could tell, Sam believed there were monsters that hid in the dark- or in shadows- and used them to move between worlds. The creatures had been coming after Sam ever since he was a little boy- which was interesting- spiriting him away to their own world almost nightly but when asked exactly what happened to him there, the young man would shut down. For ten years, Dr. Neill simply could not convince Sam to tell him what the monsters did to him; something that continued to tantalize Edgar. He had a feeling that if he knew what Sam believed happened to him in the monsters' presence, it might shed some light on what was causing the young man's mental illness.

As a result of his delusion, Sam rarely spent time in the communal games room or dining area with the other patients, the dark spaces beneath the furniture made him nervous and he often remained in his room. Although not a danger to himself or others, the young man's room was one of those stereotypical padded cells that even made Dr. Neill cringe. The room had no windows and the bed was flush against the floor so there would be no shadowy space beneath it. Sam had even refused to have a desk in his room as many of the other patients had. The light to Sam's room, accessible to the doctors and orderlies in the hallway, was to be kept on always; Dr. Neill even had placed a piece of grey duct tape over the light switch soon after Sam's arrival so any new staff member wouldn't be tempted to touch it during the night when all the patients' rooms were darkened.

"Sam," Dr. Neill said as the young man's gaze drifted away from him and he gazed at the inch of clearance between the carpeted floor and the bottom of the bookshelf behind his desk.

"Sam?" Edgar repeated, "Do you want to talk? We don't have to if you-"

"They're angry."

Dr. Neill looked at the young man, Sam staring straight at him, green eyes locked on his brown ones.

"The… creatures? They're angry?" Edgar asked even though he knew the answer, he just wanted to keep Sam talking as long as he could.

The young man nodded, "Yes… they're angry… at you…"

Dr. Neill frowned though he wasn't particularly upset by this pronouncement.

"Why are they angry at me, Sam?"

"You keep the dark away," the young man answered softly.

"What would happen if I didn't?" Dr. Neill asked.

"They'd…" Sam hesitated, twining his fingers together nervously, "… They'd take me away again…"

"And?" Edgar encouraged, his heart skipping a beat.

Sam didn't answer but his chin trembled and his eyes grew moist. He drew himself up taller, catching the doctor's attention, before slumping back against the seat, looking exhausted.

"They'd hurt me," Sam breathed, speaking so softly the doctor almost didn't hear him.

"What would they do to you, Sam?" Edgar pressed but a moment later he regretted that decision.

The young man wrapped his arms around his middle and groaned as though he was sick.

"Sam?" Dr. Neill spoke his patient's name but the young man ignored him.

"If they're mad at me than why don't they take me away?" Edgar asked.

Sam stared at the doctor for a long moment before his eyes overflowed and tears began leaking down his face.

"Sam," Dr. Neill said, standing up, concerned that he'd upset his patient.

Moving to the young man's side, Edgar grabbed a tissue from the box of Kleenex on his desk and held it out to Sam.

His patient ignored the tissue and instead wiped his face on the sleeve of his housecoat.

Dr. Neill sighed and looked up at the two orderlies, "I think we're finished for today, gentlemen, can you take Sam back to his room?"

Tex nodded and both he and Alvin moved forwards to Sam. Tex reached out and took Sam's arm gently, urging him to stand.

"C'mon, son," Tex muttered, his Southern drawl quite noticeable.

Alvin followed close behind as his fellow orderly and Sam left the office.

Dr. Neill stared after the trio for a minute or so before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

_SPN_

Alvin Lauder had been working at the Briarcliffe Psychiatric Hospital for nine months now and thought the place was okay, if surprisingly boring.

Contrary to what he'd believed, none of the patients were all that interesting. Sure, there was the occasional freak-out but they were usually quickly contained and Tex had just looked at him like _he _was crazy when he'd asked about lobotomies and electro-shock therapy.

Mental hospitals were not like that anymore, Tex had told him, thank God. The doctors tried to help the patients rather than turn them into drooling, mindless vegetables.

Oh well, Alvin had shrugged; at least it was better than his previous job as a janitor at a local funeral home.

Alvin sneered as he stared at Tex's back as the man walked Sam Winchester to his room. The other orderly was probably fifty, with steel-grey hair and a silver mustache; add his accent and Alvin thought he would make an excellent cowboy.

Like the hospital itself, Tex was dull, with no sense of humour and Alvin hated working with him. The man should probably retire soon, he'd been working here since the place opened, it seemed.

Alvin raised an eyebrow when Tex stopped and looked over his shoulder at him.

"Just remembered there's something I've gotta take care of with Dr. Neill," the older man said, "Mind taking Sam the rest of the way."

"Sure," Alvin answered instantly and moved forward, taking the younger man's arm in his chubby hand.

Tex nodded and headed back down the hallway the way they had come.

Alvin tugged on Sam's arm and the patient followed him obediently. The orderly glanced at the younger man from the corner of his eye; Sam's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face pale and drawn.

Alvin held back the sneer that struggled to twist his lips and began walking faster instead, "C'mon."

Although Briarcliffe could be dull as dirt, Alvin remedied that often by creating his own entertainment.

It was harmless really, no one ever got hurt and it relieved some of the monotony, so Alvin didn't see anything wrong with it.

One of the patients he particularly liked to pick on was the one now alone with him.

Alvin stopped in front of Sam's room and opened the door and gave the young man an encouraging push inside. The patient turned around and looked at Alvin as though he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Alvin never bothered with the patients who were lucid enough to tell on him, instead, he picked the ones who were either too zoned out from their medications or who often didn't speak or at least no in any coherent fashion.

He didn't know if Sam knew what he was doing but he never said anything about it to Dr. Neill so Alvin didn't worry, besides, it wasn't hurting the guy.

The orderly closed the door, locking it and raised his hand to that stupid piece of duct tape the good doctor believed would prevent people like Alvin from fiddling with the light.

Pulling the square of tape down, Alvin casually flicked off the light, plunging the room before him into darkness.

Sam's reaction was instantaneous; he began crying and hitting the door, the sounds muffled but clear enough to Alvin standing right in front of it. He gazed through the small, square window reinforced with wire and imagined the look on the patient's face as he did so.

With one sausage-sized finger Alvin flicked the light back on, smiling in at the young man cowering against the door.

"Please… Please…" Sam whimpered, "Not… Not again…"

Alvin's grin widened and he turned the light off a second time.

"No! No!" the patient cried from within, fists battering against the padded door, "Please! The light! Light! They're coming! They're com-"

Alvin frowned as Sam's voice was suddenly silenced.

What had happened?

Oh shit, what if I fucked him up? Alvin thought and turned the light back on, fearing he was about to be facing a dead-eyed, blubbering mess.

Alvin's frown grew as he peered through the window and saw nothing. Thinking that Sam was leaning against the door, he swiftly unlocked it and opened it, prepared to catch the young man should he fall forward.

Nothing. The room was empty.

Sam Winchester was gone.

**Author's Note:**

**Chapter title comes from a Metallica song.**

**I am not an expert on mental illness; the information I used in this about schizophrenia was gathered from the Internet. I apologize for any mistakes. **

**I am sure there is a strict procedure for hiring personnel to work in mental health facilities- even the orderlies- but I wanted Alvin to be an asshole, so please ignore that glaring error. **

**This was kind of a different story; please let me know what you think. No flames though. **


End file.
